


a man who knew the meaning of fear

by Marvelgeek42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vikings, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, First Meetings, Gen, Historical Accuracy, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, May Or May Not Be Continued, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Pre-Relationship, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22441564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvelgeek42/pseuds/Marvelgeek42
Summary: “Who are you, then, that you got this role?” the attractive one comments.And wasn’t that a good question? Who was the man, really? Was he Pagan as he had been raised or Christian as he had been baptized? Who he had been born as or who he is now? Who he wanted to be, perhaps?“No one of importance. Yet.” He added with a grin.
Relationships: Regulus Black/Bartemius Crouch Jr.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	a man who knew the meaning of fear

**Author's Note:**

> There is no such thing as Historical Accuracy. But this is the closest I (a historian in training) was able to get with limited time and a focus on other eras.
> 
> Why limited time? Because this is technically a Christmas present. Oops.
> 
> Anyway, Sophie, I hope you like it.

As people, we know a lot of things about history. We know when a lot of wars were fought, between whom and at least a great part of the why. We know when many people lived and what they did, be the things be great or cruel or both — that last one is probably the most frequent conclusion one has to reach.

Of course, there are also a lot of things that we do not know. We don’t know everything about how life was in the past, at least not exactly. We also do not know about the lives of the everyday people, of those who were at the bottom of social hierarchy. And, without a doubt, there are entire groups of peoples whose records have been lost over time.

How much we know, of course, differs greatly based on the time period and region. It depends on what people thought important enough to write down or tell their children about and what was considered too mundane to mention. It depends on which things they wrote things down on and whether someone else burned them down. It depends on whether people can freely tell their tales or have to do so in secret for fear of persecution or if the people telling us tales of the past are deliberately excluding some of the tales — of their own or of others — to shape the way history is seen and change the present.

This story is one of the things that did not go down in history, that was simply lost in time. The greater circumstances surrounding it, yes, without any doubt, but the particulars will not be found in any history book. What the reason for that is, no one can say for sure, so feel free to form your own theories. Who knows, you might just figure out the correct one.

This tale takes place in a land that you will most likely know as Normandy, although it does not have this name quite yet. Give it a generation or two, and it will, but at this time, the lands have only just been given to the Norman people that made up the Great Heathen Army, many of whom had been previously fighting on an isle just north of their new home.

The locals had no say in that choice, even if there where multiple voices that knew this decision was only a matter of time. After all, all the rivers that led the Víkingr hordes further inland are located in this area and who better to defend the cities from Víkingr invasions than Víkingr themselves?

There had been multiple previous attempts to do something of this sort, but this time it was more likely to work out, because the leader that had been picked wasn’t one young enough to be easily swayed by promises of riches and glory, no. This time, the man in charge was none other than Rolf the Walker who was already one with great riches and glory connected to his name and old enough that he began thinking about what would happen once he left this world. He would make sure that his men would actually do what they had promised the king, even if they had to convert to Christianity to be allowed to do so.

One of the men at his side was the one that this story is about. This young man was among those tasked to scout out the area. He wasn’t really one of the people who made a lot of connections, nor was he one to mourn the lack of them while he had a goal in mind. And he had one such goal here — namely the untold riches that had been promised to the Víkingr — so he simply went off on his own at the first chance he got. He might have acted differently if the people who had been given the same task as him were anyone worth sucking up to, but they were not and so he saw no point in wasting his efforts.

The man did not take long to find a Frankish village, which likely meant that there were no other rivers in the era. After all, why else would the village be literally  _ just  _ outside of the view one had from a boat on the river? Clearly, they relied on it to some degree but had removed the houses that would have made an attack from fellow Norsemen likely.

The man grinned as he strolled into the village, knowing the kind of reaction he was likely to get. He relished in the kind of power that gave him, even if it was more than likely short-lived.

The village was small, only a dozen or so houses at most, so it did no take the man all that long to walk through it. Once he was done giving everything a vague look over, he moved back towards the empty space towards the center of the village and waited.

It did not take as long as expected before two of the village’s people left their home to greet him. They looked similar enough to each other that it was likely they were closely related, and since they seemed to be about the same age, they were probably brothers, both a handful of years older than him. And going by the amount of dye in their clothes, they were either wealthy or important — or both, most likely.

Of course, the man was only guessing. This was his first journey to the lands of the Franks and he didn’t know much about their culture and such. But he was willing to bet that if these people  _ had  _ a better way of dying their fabrics that it would have swapped over the Nordsjøen by now.

“You know,” the shorter, slightly broader one of the two commented loudly. Not in the local tongue, but in the Norse one. “Usually, there’s more blood, gore, and screaming when you guys come for your raids. And just more people in general.”

This was not the reaction the Víkingr had anticipated, but that was okay. He could work with that. 

“Oh, but this is not a raid.”

“What is your business here, if not a raid?” the other brother questioned. This one was unquestionably the more attractive one out of the two. He was just barely taller — to a point that it might actually be an illusion caused by their hair or boots — and thinner in a way that suggested less physical work. But the man’s face was the most beautiful one that the Víkingr had seen in ages.

“That is a question easily answered. The king handed over the control of these lands to Rolf the Walker. And I am one of the ones that were sent out to look at these lands.”

The Frankish brothers exchange a glance and a few words in the local tongue.

“Who are you, then, that you got this role?” the attractive one comments.

And wasn’t that a good question? Who was the man, really? Was he Pagan as he had been raised or Christian as he had been baptized? Who he had been born as or who he is now? Who he wanted to be, perhaps?

“No one of importance. Yet.” He added with a grin.

* * *

Now, before we continue the tale, let us take a moment to look at the first of our protagonist, shall we?

Barty Athulfsson had never been someone of importance before. He wasn’t different in any significant way from any of the other members of the Víkingr hordes, be it this specific one or any of those that had settled in different parts of Mi ðgarðr , or those that returned back to the North after every raid.

Yes, he had been the one to kiss the King’s feet when Rolf found himself unwilling to and yes, he had done that by raising the foot and not kneeling down as was generally expected. That, however, did not make him important by itself. Or at the very least not outside of the moment itself.

But he hadn’t always been Barty Athulfsson. Once upon a time — both a lifetime and only a handful of winters ago — he had been someone else, with a different name, a different life, and a different history.

He had left that name and that person behind with his parents when he left the North with a group from a different part of the lands, on the other side of the Skagerrak and he fully intended never to go back to him.

This had not been a sudden decision, even if it had seemed like one to most of the people around him. He had been plotting his escape long before he had become a man three summers ago.

His father was none other than the jarl of the lands he lived. He possessed a number of estates and ships and his many followers among the karls were many and rewarded for their loyalty as it was due. It wasn’t like there weren’t enough thralls and treasures to go around, after all.

But his father was also a cruel man, and not just when he was leading an expedition. No, he also acted like this towards his only son by his wife. He had made Barty weak in a way that was usually reserved for one’s enemies. No father should do such things to his own son.

Barty’s plans to leave his father and everything that connected him to this man behind began the very same day this humiliation started. He could probably have left earlier than he did, but he took the time to make sure that he wouldn’t be followed or tracked down.

Or, at the very least not until he had made a name for himself completely independently. He’d show everyone just how strong he actually was.

* * *

Regulus and Sirius were the sons of the richest man in the village. Their branch of the family had been in the area for generations, originally settling there because of the trading benefits that had been largely ruined by the constant raids in the last century or so. There had been a significant increase in those after the King of the West Frankish kingdom had come up with the idea of paying the Vikingr to attack someone else’s lands, since that meant that each Vikingr could expect more gold from each voyage.

But their family had stayed despite it all. Not many people had, so within a few generations, their already well-off family’s wealth grew exponentially. And they had figured out a way to hide enough of their coin that even those Vikingr who found their village were unlikely to find it. And the fact that a not insignificant part of the family had been praying for that every single evening in their nightly prayer certainly didn’t hurt their chances, Regulus figured. At the very least not unless some of them did something to offend the Almighty.

The arrival of the Vikingr had made him fear that one of them had done something of that sort, after all, but the longer the Vikingr talked, the more Regulus began to doubt it. While having the Norsemen rule over them would be by no means ideal, it would likely stop or at the very least reduce the number of raids they suffered from the very same. 

“If you are no one of importance, then what are you doing here?” Regulus asks the Vikingr. “Why did you get this task?” After all, surely one wouldn’t just choose anyone for a task as important as this.

The Vikingr angled his head. “I supposed I  _ am  _ the man who kissed your—  _ the  _ king’s feet after Rolf refused to.” He snorted but didn’t elaborate any further.

“I would say that is rather important,” Sirius commented and Regulus had to agree. Not that he would admit it in front of his brother.

“I am still perplexed why the King would give land to a bunch of heathens,” he said instead. It was, after all, just as true.

“Didn’t I mention?” The Vikingr chuckled. “We’ve been baptized.”

“Oh, have you now,” Sirius snorts.

“Why yes, we have. I am a proper Christian now.”

Considering the fact that he was still wearing multiple heathen amulets and jewelry, Regulus kind of doubted his sincerity, but it was a start, definitely.

“That is definitely good,” Regulus stated. “My name is Regulus. And that is my brother, Sirius.”

“Barty,” the Vikingr replied. “I look forward to working with you.” He looked Regulus in the eyes and smiled as he added that last part.

“So do I.” His brother gave Regulus a look filled with all sorts of emotions at that. There was shock, yes, but also confusion and distrust.

Which, in all honesty, Regulus couldn’t blame him for. Barty  _ was  _ a Vikingr, after all.

But to be fair, no one had told Regulus that it was possible for Vikingr to be this attractive before.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this doesn't feel too much like a history lesson in the beginning. I tried.
> 
> Just in case anyone is interested, my tumblr is @marvelgeek42.


End file.
